Coming Clean
by armatta
Summary: My musings on how Grissom and Sara started their now infamous relationship. Takes place right after Grave Danger.
1. Chapter 1

A/N: Takes place directly after "Grave Danger."

Summary: My thoughts on how Grissom and Sara might have started their relationship...

Disclaimer: CSI belongs to CBS and no one else... I'm just renting the characters :-)

Note: This is my first fanfic EVAR! Any feedback would be greatly appreciated...

* * *

Mercifully, the rest of the evening goes by quickly. Nick is taken to the hospital with his parents and there is a kind of unspoken agreement between the other CSIs to give them a day together before the visiting starts. And before they get his account of his ordeal.

Gil walks out of Ecklie's office feeling very much a successful manager for once. He can't believe he got what he wanted, but there was no way Ecklie could refuse after what happened that night. Silently triumphing at the return of his team, Gil goes into his office. Paperwork, mountains of paperwork about tonight's case, awaits him. For once, he dives into it, wanting to put this entire miserable night behind him, behind them all.

The rest of the CSIs finish up in the lab and slowly filter out. First Catherine goes, making a bit of small talk with him before she does. She unconsciously mentions Lindsey and Gil knows immediately that she, like all of them, is seriously considering her life priorities right now. "I mean, _shit_," she says. "Nicky almost died. Makes you really think about how much time we have here."

"Before we shuffle off this mortal coil…" Grissom offers his Shakespeare quote automatically. Catherine smiles, indulging him, then mumbles her goodbyes and leaves. Warrick takes off about an hour afterward, but he just gives a forced smile and waves instead of coming into Gil's office, which is unusual for him. Nick's life-or-death situation probably hit him the hardest—it was no secret how close those two were. _Are_. Most likely, he'll be stopping by the hospital in violation of their little pact. Gil can't blame him.

Gil's almost done with his reports when he sees Sara walking towards the elevators. Her normal somewhat hasty gait has been replaced with a kind of languid pace. She seems to be in a daze and walks into the open elevator doors without even looking back at him. Gil's mental radar goes haywire—it usually does whenever anything unexpected happens. As a creature of habit, Gil expects the people around him to be predictable in their actions, and they usually don't disappoint.

So when Sara leaves the lab without so much as a "'Night, Gris," he knows there's a serious problem. Serious enough that he practically jumps out of his desk to follow her.

It always seems that elevators are slowest when you're in a hurry. But the precious few seconds-that-seem-like-hours allow him to take stock of Sara's actions that night. He hardly had any time to interact with her, and never got a chance to gauge how the terrible events affected her. She'd been through a lot the last couple of months, that was certain. Hell, it'd been a rough year for all of them.

He realizes that Sara hasn't been reaching out to him or anyone else like she used to. Somehow, she's become more reserved, more introverted than ever. And, being an introvert himself, he hadn't really noticed. Once again cursing his poor managerial skills, Gil snaps into the elevator and pushes the garage level button several times for good measure. He's agitated now, wondering if she's okay, and surprised at his own rising panic at the state of her well-being.

How long had it been since they talked? _Really_ talked? They used to be friends, but then she propositioned him and he'd refused. Not that he didn't want to take her up on her dinner offer, to see what happened next. But Sara was always a challenge to him. He had his life, his routines, and she blithely offered to break all that up. For a man like him, so rooted in his habits and rituals, that idea paralyzed him.

But he had always secretly wanted it. He had wanted _her_ most of all. What held him back? He tries to remember as he enters the garage, scanning the parking places for familiar cars. Whatever it was that kept him from taking that step with her is long forgotten now. He quickens his pace when he realizes that almost all the cars are gone. Brass went to the hospital and Catherine and Warrick are long gone. Had Sara driven off already? Would she go straight home?

He stops short when he sees her at her car door. But his heartbeat more than compensates for his stillness. Effortlessly slipping into CSI mode, he analyzes the situation before he approaches. Her head bent, she is still in the motion of opening her car door, her hand weakly grasping the door handle. Is she stopping to think about something, he wonders? Did she forget something in the lab? As he nears her, he sees that her shoulders are shaking. She's crying, he realizes. Not just crying, _sobbing_—miserable and uncomforted.

Before he realizes what he's doing, Gil's got his hand on her shoulder. She turns around slowly, as though she already knows it's him. Her brown eyes are wet and her tears streak her face. She presses her lips together for a moment, her expression unreadable.

For a split second he thinks she's going to be glib as usual, tell him she's fine when clearly she's not. She'll try to escape the confrontation, her own social awkwardness putting distance between them. She tries to speak, but she can't. So she looks at him with those large searching eyes. He told her a long time ago, in his typically roundabout way, that she was beautiful. And now he knows how true that statement was. Her vulnerability tonight makes her breathtaking and, after all they've been through tonight, he will not avoid her.

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**More to come soon... **


	2. Chapter 2

A/N: Takes place directly after "Grave Danger."

Summary: My thoughts on how Grissom and Sara might have started their relationship...

Disclaimer: CSI belongs to CBS and no one else... I'm just renting the characters :-)

Note: This is my first fanfic EVAR! Any feedback would be greatly appreciated...

* * *

Sara falls Grissom's arms easily when he pulls her close. He's lightheaded for a moment and realizes that they've never been this close to each other. She rests her head in the crook of his neck and cries softly. His scientific mind makes rapid lists of all of the sensory details: her eyelashes tickling his neck, the almost unnoticeable scent of the shampoo in her hair, her fingertips pressing into his back, the narrowness of her waist as he holds her closer. He will relish all of these later. 

But now he's more interested in her, in what she needs from him. He holds her there for a few minutes until the tears subside. He feels her body start to tense up as she comes back to herself, comes to grips with where she is and who she's with.

"Gris…" she says hoarsely. She leans back into his arms so she can look him in the eyes. Something in them makes her pause, but then she continues, "Gris, you can let go of me now." Her tone is sardonic and she leans away from him, going back to her usual technique of evasion.

Tonight, of all nights, he won't let her. He holds her firmly, his eyes intense and unwavering. "Sara, tell me what's going on with you." It's not a question, but that doesn't mean she'll give in.

She's still trying to escape him, trying to run away from how she let him in a moment ago. She looks away, but he tightens his grip on her waist, causing her to reestablish eye contact. He wonders why it's such a battle with them, just getting her to talk to him. _She probably feels the same way about me_, he muses.

"I'm fine, really…" she begins lamely. Another tear falls down her face and she's done for. Her composure breaks and she talks through her sobs. "It's just too much, I think… when did this job get so damn _dangerous_? After that night in the insane asylum… and now Nick almost dying…"

"I know," he says, his voice full of compassion that he never knew he had. "It's a lot to process, if you'll pardon the pun." He smiles kindly at her and is rewarded with a small laugh in response. Her smile, with all of its lightness and charm, disarms him completely.

He's never been much of a risk taker, especially when it comes to matters of the heart, but tonight is different somehow. She let him see her weak side and he let her know it was okay to have one. It feels as though something inside him is rising from the dead. All of the attraction, the longing, the _passion_ he sublimated for so long, rises up inside him and his mouth goes dry when he realizes how much he _wants_ her now.

Tension mounts between them and she reacts to his change in mood. Her eyes fill with confusion even as his fill with purpose. But this kind of thing requires delicacy, especially with a relationship as loaded as theirs. _Slowly_, he thinks. _Go slowly_.

Gil moves one of his hands from around her waist and gently brushes her tears away with his thumb. She's entranced by his touch, her breaths shallow and nervous. No time for hesitation, not now. He leans in and presses his lips to hers in the sweetest of kisses. She breathes in hard in surprise, too shocked to kiss back. So he kisses her again, a little firmer this time, and she's ready for it. The chasteness of their kissing melts away and their lips meet, part, and meet again in a dizzying and intensifying dance.

Overcome by his emotions, Gil breaks away from her lips, moving his mouth down her neck in slow, luxurious kisses. She moans softly and her hands grip his upper arms. _This is it_, he thinks, _this is what I wanted… with her… I love her._

Instead of fleeing from this terrifying revelation, Gil finds her lips again and kisses harder, willing his love for her to communicate itself through his mouth and tongue that delightedly snakes in and out of her mouth. She responds with equal enthusiasm and he can't remember when he's been so aroused… or so happy.

But even Gil Grissom's luck runs out sometimes. A car door slams at the other end of the parking lot. Startled, Sara pulls away and the spell is broken. She can't even meet his eyes as she mumbles a farewell and piles into her car. His precious gift of speech suddenly lost to him, he can only watch her go.

* * *

**Will update as soon as I can. Thanks for all the great replies! They keep me motivated. :-)  
**


	3. Chapter 3

A/N: Takes place directly after "Grave Danger."

Summary: My thoughts on how Grissom and Sara might have started their relationship...

Disclaimer: CSI belongs to CBS and no one else... I'm just renting the characters :-)

Note: This is my first fanfic EVAR! Any feedback would be greatly appreciated...

* * *

The next few weeks are full of distractions, peppered only by Grissom taking the time to righteously kick himself for how he acted in the parking lot. _She was upset, vulnerable, and you took advantage,_ he chides himself. She's been avoiding him ever since, can barely look him in the eyes. But when she does, they are full of defiance _Did I make our relationship worse, _he asks himself. _Is that even possible?_

But as foolhardy as he was, he knows now to give her some time to come back around. Everyone's been dealing with Nick's kidnapping differently and he figures that her feelings are too remote right now for her to be able to respond to his overtures. Well, that's what he tells himself, anyway. There's no way to really know until he talks to her, and it seems as though he used up all of his bravado in that parking garage.

Things finally seem to return to normal—Nick's back on shift, the team is back together again and Las Vegas still delivers its usual robberies, assaults, and of course, murder. It's the latter that puts Grissom and Sara together again at last as they drive out to meet Brass on a dirt road outside of Henderson.

Naturally, the car ride is tense. They haven't been alone together since they kissed. Sara's attempts at levity and chatter are a nuisance to Grissom and after a few minutes, he's had enough. "Look, Sara, don't you think it's time we had a discussion?"

She exhales slowly and keeps her eyes fixed ahead of her, lips twisted in a grimace.

If they are ever going to have a real conversation, one of them has to be the adult and make it happen. Grissom decides that this time, it's going to be him. "Well, don't you?"

"Just drive, Grissom…" she says quietly.

"I want to talk about it." His voice is gentle, but firm.

"Oh, I bet you do…" she mocks. "There's been plenty of times I wanted to talk to you… but you weren't interested. Or too chickenshit."

"That may be true, but you're a lot braver than I am."

"Not anymore, Gris. Look what bravery gets you… look what it got Nicky…"

Grissom grips the steering wheel and looks at her sideways, barely keeping his eyes on the bumpy road ahead of him. "What happened to Nick had nothing to do with what happened between us."

"Oh, so it was a big coincidence?" Now Gil is silent—an honest response would be unhelpful. It's true that Nick's near-death experience rattled him, made him take stock of his feelings for Sara. But those feelings were already there, he just finally admitted them to himself and expressed them to her. His silence prods her onward, her voice rising in pitch and agitation. "I get it, okay, Grissom? We were both shook up… You saw me in distress. You… comforted me… That's it. No harm done. Can we drop it now?"

"Sara, that's not what…"

But she interrupts him, "We're here." Sara waves to Brass as they pull up to an abandoned building whose function is undetectable at first glance. Gil has barely stopped the car before Sara jumps out of it. He grits his teeth in disappointment and follows her.

"Hey, guys," Brass greets them amiably. "We got a DB in the water tank out there. We managed to pull it out before you got here. David's with her now." He indicates a stretch of cement just before the building doors.

Grissom surveys the scene, opts to get the big picture before he goes in for the details. Sara walks past him to get the report from David. "There must be twenty cops here, Brass. What gives?"

"We think the body belongs to Christine DeSoto. She was found nude, but her wedding ring has Brad's name in it. Do you remember that case?"

"Sure. Married cops coming home from a camping trip… get surprised by an unknown assailant, he was bludgeoned over the head and she was abducted. That was three months ago, right?"

"Right. And Devon Wright, the main suspect, had skipped town just afterward. Never did find him." Brass kicks the ground unconsciously. Gil wonders if he's picturing Wright's body under his feet.

"I remember. DeSoto, the husband, had just arrested him for a major felony—some kind of computer scam—and Wright jumped bail. With all the charges against him, he was looking at twenty years, easy."

Brass looks off at the corpse on the ground, his face tight with regret. "Well, now he's looking at life."

Sara interrupts their conversation with her report from David. In the distance, the Coroner's van has pulled up and David starts placing the dead woman's body in a black bag. "Well, we're pretty sure she was strangled some time ago. Obviously, the body's too bloated to give us much evidence. Any signs of sexual trauma, fingernail scrapings, hairs or fibers will have washed away a long time ago." Even after all these years and hundreds of cases, Sara is still affected by these deaths. It only makes her a better CSI, Grissom thinks. It pushes her to work harder, be smarter, find the killers as quickly as possible.

Grissom surveys the scene again. "So what exactly is this place?"

"It used to be a water filtration plant, but a new facility was built closer to town and this place was abandoned in the 60s. There's the treatment plant there, and the water tank is next to it. The body was found in one of the smaller tanks inside the building."

"How on earth did anyone find her?" Sara asks.

"Anonymous phone tip," Brass says ominously. Grissom and Sara are visibly taken aback.

"The only person who would know where she was is the killer," Sara says. "Why would he tell us where she is?"

"Maybe he felt guilty after all this time," Brass offers. "Anyway, I can show you where she was found. It's our best shot at finding any evidence."

Brass leads the way and the three of them find themselves in a dank, dismal room that has seen years of nothing but neglect. Dust and cobwebs reign in the tank room where a series of pressurized vessels, still full of water, line the room in two rows. Brass gestures to the only open one in the back of the room. "Caller was very specific… told us exactly where to find her."

"The floor is damp," Sara observes. "Still, I'll try to find some shoe prints."

"I'll dust the tank and the surrounding areas," Gil replies.

"I'll leave you two to it, then. I'm going to try to get some of these guys to go home. They're all so agitated. Christine's death was a major blow. Brad never got over it—quit the force and moved out of town." Brass sighs with exhaustion and leaves the room.

Both Grissom and Sara begin to process the scene, each swept up in their own process, the conversation in the car long forgotten. After a few minutes, Sara hears a strange high-pitched beeping coming from somewhere in the room. Grissom looks up and they give each other confused glances. Then a second location starts beeping, closer to Grissom. Then another. "What…?" Sara begins.

When another beeping starts next to Grissom, he glances at the tank to the side of the one he's processing. There is a gauge that notes the water pressure, but no digital devices that would make that sort of noise. The room is filling with the sound of intermittent accelerating beeps and Sara and Grissom are becoming frantic. Gill presses his ear to the tank in front of him. "There's something in there…" His eyes widen in horror and Sara's comprehending stare catches the breath in his throat. The back door is closest to him… the exit is clear across the room.

One of the tanks closest to the front door stops beeping. Then it explodes, sending water and twisted metal fragments in every direction. Grissom does quick math… there are a dozen tanks in the room, all filled with water… _Oh God… _Grissom grabs Sara's arm begins running toward the back door even as another tank explodes. "Sara," he shouts, all composure long gone. "Run!"

* * *

**This is probably the last update tonight. I'll try to get more posted tomorrow. Thanks again for your replies!**


	4. Chapter 4

A/N: Takes place directly after "Grave Danger."

Summary: My thoughts on how Grissom and Sara might have started their relationship...

Disclaimer: CSI belongs to CBS and no one else... I'm just renting the characters :-)

Note: This is my first fanfic EVAR! Any feedback would be greatly appreciated...

* * *

Grissom drags Sara behind him as he runs through the back door, not having the faintest idea where it leads. He's good in a crisis—his analytical mind takes over, slows things down, allows him to act without panicking. _The explosions are timed so that they begin at the front door and continue towards where we are… we're safest going this way. _The room is already flooding even as the canisters continue to explode. The room is bigger than the canisters, so it won't flood completely, but he's more worried about the flying debris and sharp metal that crashes around them.

And of course, he's concerned about her… he knows she keeps her head in a dangerous situation. He saw evidence of that not too long ago when Adam Trent held her with a shard of pottery to her throat. She'd managed to get out of that situation, no thanks to him. But this is loud and immediate…and she's lagging, making him pull her hard.

On the other side of the door is a small platform that makes up the top of a stairwell leading down, to what he can't be sure of. He quickly slams the door behind her, using his body to press hers against the door, keeping it closed as the nearest tanks explode. Shockwaves rock the small stairwell. The brittle ceiling drops plaster around them. Water seeps through the crack in the door, pouring down past their feet and into the darkness below.

In seconds, it's all over—and they're safe. Gil's arms are painful now, strained against the door. Although mentally calm, his breathing is labored and his gasps for air mirror Sara's as she looks around the nearly pitch-black room in terror. The fact that she can't see anything causes her to strain against him—she desperately needs to feel the dimensions of the room, find out _something _about where they're now trapped. Grissom presses harder against her, preventing her from escaping. She can feel the pressure of the water against the door lessening as the water keeps spilling around their feet.

Once their breathing relaxes a little, he speaks. "Are you okay?" he whispers in controlled tones. She can't see him at all, but she knows that he's unafraid and it comforts her.

"I'm okay," she says hoarsely. He doesn't move. "Grissom, I'm okay… really." This time she sounds more confident and he moves away from her.

Grissom reaches into his vest and pulls out a flashlight. Its small beam allows him a small amount of information about the room. Sara preemptively turns on her walkie-talkie and assures Brass and anyone listening that they're unhurt.

"Where are you?" Brass queries, his voice tinged with worry.

"We're in a stairwell at the back of the place." She follows the path of Grissom's flashlight down to the bottom of the stairwell. "It leads down somewhere, but right now I'm not too keen to go exploring."

"Sit tight," Brass replies "We'll get you out of there as soon as we can."

"Don't worry—we're not going anywhere."

Sara turns off the walkie-talkie and leans over the railing next to Grissom, trying to see what he's looking at. "It's a cistern," Grissom informs her. "Apparently this building taps into a hot springs below."

"Great," Sara says sarcastically. "So we're surrounded by water."

"Water, water everywhere…nor any drop to drink," Grissom offers as he examines the crumbling roof.

Sara mumbles something about Coleridge and opium and sits on the small platform dejectedly. "So much for any chance to get evidence from in there. What the explosions didn't destroy, the water certainly did."

"Maybe we'll get lucky and some of it washed into our shoes," Grissom jokes, sloshing his feet around for emphasis. Sara smiles despite herself. "Makes you wonder, though," Grissom continues. "Why rig up all of those bombs to go off? Was the killer trying to destroy evidence… or get some other people killed?"

"Especially since we're nearly positive that the killer is the one that led us to the body. I think we can rule out the idea that the bombs went off randomly. This guy was trying to make a point."

"Yeah," Gil says grimly. "Stay back."

"Do you think he was after us? The CSIs?" Sara wonders. She has flashes again of Nick, the random target of a madman who twisted his grief into an obsession of punishing crime scene investigators—_any _crime scene investigators. Nick was the victim of bad luck more than anything else…were she and Grissom going to be its next casualties?

"It's impossible to tell _who_ or _what_ those bombs were for. Could have been anyone in here… investigators, cops, attorneys… Maybe our killer just has a flair for the dramatic."

"This _is_ pretty dramatic. Trapped in this building that's falling apart, on a rickety, rusted out stairwell that leads to a watery hole in the ground. I think I read this dime store novel already." She chuckles a little to ward of the encroaching fear that pierces her consciousness every time she thinks of their predicament.

Grissom sits down next to her and shuts off his flashlight to conserve batteries. There's no telling how long they'll be in there before the building is deemed stable enough to extract them. "Well, I hope in your novel, the heroes make it out alive at the end." She can hear the smile in his voice and appreciates his attempts at levity.

"Guess we just wait to get rescued," she says to the darkness around her.

* * *

**Thanks so much for all of your great responses! I'll keep updating as fast as I can. A few people asked me if I ever wrote anything before... I am an amateur writer, but this is my first experience with fan fiction. Thanks for giving me such a warm welcome:-D**


	5. Chapter 5

A/N: Takes place directly after "Grave Danger."

Summary: My thoughts on how Grissom and Sara might have started their relationship...

Disclaimer: CSI belongs to CBS and no one else... I'm just renting the characters :-)

Note: This is my first fanfic EVAR! Any feedback would be greatly appreciated...

* * *

By the time Catherine and Greg drive up, there are even more police officers swarming around the body dump site. Brass assured her on the phone that Gil and Sara were unhurt, but that doesn't stop the waves of anxiety that pass through her. She glances over at Greg in the passenger seat. He's tense as well, but there's unmistakable determination on the young CSI's face and she's pleased that he's able to work well under these conditions. _Looks like our little Greg Sanders has a future in this business_, she thinks with satisfaction. 

They get out of the car and Brass fills her in. Catherine stops short when she sees the condition of the water processing plant. "Brass—that building could collapse at any moment! Get them out of there!"

Brass shrugs somewhat sheepishly. "I would, but the bomb squad was called in and they said they need to clear the site of all explosive elements before we can approach the building."

"Makes sense," Greg offers. Catherine gives him a sideways glare.

"Anyway," Brass continues, "we need you guys to work the scene while Grissom and Sara are… indisposed."

"Greg, I need you on the periphery. See if our perp left any tire tracks. He had to get here somehow." Greg nods and starts to head off. Catherine catches his arm and looks him hard in the eyes "Take _lots_ of photos, Greg. We wanna get this guy for messing with our people."

Greg gives a trademark Sanders smile and walks away, studying the ground with intense levels of scrutiny. Once he's out of earshot, Catherine turns to Brass. "Has anyone told Nicky about this yet?"

Brass shakes his head. "No… he and Warrick are still working on a car accident… fatality… should keep them busy for awhile. I didn't see the use in telling them that Grissom and Sara are in danger."

"Good thinking," Catherine replies and heads towards the building. She approaches one of the policemen there. He seems to be more shaken up than the rest, indicating to her that he's the one who was closest when the place blew up. This is Catherine's territory, her comfort zone. While Gil's interest is in the bugs, Catherine feels most in her element with the human factor—taking witness statements, getting crime details from the law enforcement officers, running the scenarios in her head from the perspective of the people involved. Grissom thinks it's imprecise, but she tells herself it's only imprecise if you do it wrong.

She smiles warmly at the young officer who clutches his cup of coffee while he stares at the nearly wrecked building. "Hey there, Officer…" she looks at the name embroidered on his vest. "…Cullen. How's it going?"

He gives her an unsure smile back and resumes staring at the scene. "I was wondering if you could tell me what happened here," she presses. "How did this all happen?"

"I don't know, ma'am," he says quietly, gazing into his coffee cup. "I wish I could tell you. One second, we were out here talking about Brad and Christine, you know? Then all of a sudden, the whole place nearly goes up."

"Where were you standing?" she asks. She keeps her voice gentle, wanting to keep the officer calm and helpful.

"Just a few yards closer to the building…" He turns to her suddenly, his eyes wide and moist. "I swear, I didn't know… I didn't know…" He's pleading with her for something. But what? Surely this man couldn't be blaming himself for the destructive impulses of some psychopath. But she senses that he knows something that could help her… and she has to find out what.

"I believe you, Officer Cullen, I do. But right now, two of my people are trapped in that building. And if you know something about what happened here, you'd better tell me." Compassion has drained from her voice, but she doesn't care. She can't afford to waste any time. He still seems unsure. "Tell me," she says more harshly. "_Now._"

He can't even look at her as he hands her a small device that looks like a small alarm clock. "I tripped over something out there… I found this…"

"Where?" she asks. He wordlessly gestures in front of him. "Show me where _exactly_." He robotically walks forward and stops at a small patch of dead grass. A few cigarette butts litter the ground. "These yours?" she asks him in irritation. He nods. Biting back an insult to the man who doubly contaminated the crime scene, she dismisses him with a wave of her hand.

A few minutes later, she's found a small pole where she thinks the device may have been mounted, most likely a power source of some kind. She examines the gadget carefully. It's definitely not a bomb, which she's sure would be a relief to Officer Cullen. It looks like some kind of transmitting device, but it's probably only a component. Without the other pieces, there's not much she can deduce about it.

Impulsively, she places the device back on its mounting, where it fits perfectly. Once reattached, the LCD projector lights up and bathes her face in a soft blue glow. Her actions have gotten Brass' attention and he joins her examination of the strange contraption.

"What is it?" he asks.

"I'm not sure yet, but at least it still works. I think it's starting up… must be a little computer of some sort."

"Archie will love it," Brass smirks. He takes a quick glance at the screen that starts to grow dim. One of the officers standing by the parked police cars calls him over and he pats Catherine on the arm before he walks away.

Catherine is about to tear her eyes away from the device and focus on the mounting and power supply when the little computer screen blinks a few times. Then words slowly scroll across it.

STUPID PIG! YOU DID A BAD THING! SO I GO BOOM!

Any residual amusement from Brass' comment quickly drains from Catherine's face. This is no mere toy—it has something to do with the explosions inside the tanks. "Oh my God," Catherine breathes.

NOW I'M GOING TO TELL MY FRIENDS!

The words disappear and are replaced by numbers: 2:00.

1:59… 1:58…

Catherine's breath catches in her throat and she looks around in a panic. The place is still swarming with people—officers mostly—who are carelessly standing around. For a second she feels the world caving in around her. There's no time to think, to try and figure out where these "friends" are… or even _what_ they are. The air is thick with danger and she's the only one who knows it. Her voice erupts from her throat. "Everyone move back!" she shrieks. "This place is rigged!"

* * *

**Still writing up a storm here... hope you guys like it. :-)**


	6. Chapter 6

The effect is instantaneous. The officers are highly trained for all kinds of dangerous situations. They know better than to question a criminalist when she tells them to take off. So they run at measured paces away from the building, which they assume to be the epicenter of danger. But Catherine's not so sure… the small bombs could be anywhere… could have been set at anytime. Still, it seems most prudent to move away from where the first explosions took place.

Brass is at her side as she rushes away from the device with the rapidly ticking down monitor. He shouts into his walkie-talkie, "Grissom! Do you read?"

"Grissom here," he replies somewhat nonchalantly.

"We got a problem…" Brass begins, unsure of how to break the news that things are about to get even more hazardous for the two CSIs trapped in the filtration plant. "Catherine found some sort of transmitting device… We think there are more bombs somewhere on the site. And they're going to go off…" he looks to her for more information.

She reads his mind effortlessly. "About a minute and a half left," she grits.

"Do you hear anything? Are the bombs in there?"

"Hang on," Grissom says distractedly. He puts his walkie-talkie back on his belt without another word.

Sara's got her flashlight out, examining the stairs. "Do you hear that?" she asks rhetorically. He shines his flashlight down into the depths of the basement below them. He does hear some sort of pulsing frequency, high-pitched but faint.

"It's coming from down there," he says, indicating the cistern below. "I'm going to check it out." He starts climbing down the flimsy staircase until Sara grabs his shoulder. The light illuminates her face and he sees her expression is one of… sadness? Resignation?

"You know what that sound is." Her voice cracks slightly and her hand tenses on his shoulder. "It's the same sound as before, but it sounds different because it's gotten water in it. It's a bomb, Grissom."

She's right, of course. The first bombs were in the tanks, designed to flood the room, force them into the stairwell. The next one is below them and will probably cause the building to collapse. How much damage it will do depends on the amount of explosives used—and, of course, there's no way to know that. There's not enough time to find out either as they have less than a minute left, by his calculations.

He pushes past her and opens the door of the filtration chamber. If the cistern goes up, they want to be as far from it as possible. "In here," he commands, putting his natural aptitude for authority to good use.

She obeys automatically and he follows her through, bolting the door behind them. The room is utterly devastated, a mass of twisted metal, burned plaster, and thick, black liquids that pool everywhere. Still, it's safer than being directly above the cistern. The door they came in is completely obscured by huge fragments of steel and its surrounding walls have collapsed against it. Apparently, this side of the room took the most damage, a point that Grissom wryly notes was most likely intentional. Clearance by the bomb squad or no, they will not be leaving this way.

Grissom's exit strategies are interrupted by a loud blast accompanied by deep rumbling. He and Sara hit the ground without a word and can do nothing but wait it out.

Outside, Catherine and Brass stop suddenly when they hear the detonation. "It came from inside the building again," Brass whispers, a little out of breath from their jog. Catherine holds her breath as she waits to see what the damage will be. There is a low thundering and the entire ground trembles. For a moment, it seems that all is well, until she hears a series of sharp crashes. The entire building shakes, then settles, then shakes again. Suddenly, it half collapses into the ground, sending up smoke and sprays of water. She blinks hard at the spectacle, and when her eyes open again, the building is partially underground.

"Grissom!" Brass barks into his walkie-talkie. "You'd better be alive in there!"

Catherine smiles at the laughter in Grissom's voice as he replies, "We're fine. A little shaken up, but we're okay."

Catherine lets Brass get the specifics from Grissom, satisfied that he and Sara are at least in no immediate danger. _Time to get this thing solved,_ she thinks, and dials Warrick on his cell phone. When he answers, she hastily gives him instructions to the plant. "I need you both here now."

"Cath, we're still processing this scene," Warrick counters half-heartedly. Starting an argument with Catherine is usually a losing proposition.

"The officers will watch the scene and days will pick it up. We need you here." She's about to hang up but quickly adds, "And bring Archie with you."

She's about to place a call to Sofia when Greg comes trotting up. His exasperation is etched on his face. "Those cops are running all over my tire tracks! What's going on over here?" he asks petulantly.

"Another bomb," Catherine replies. Greg is suitably silenced. "Grissom and Sara are okay, but not in the greatest place," she says, anticipating his next question. Then she turns to him with curiosity. "You found tire tracks? From the dump vehicle?"

"It's gotta be the dump vehicle. It isn't one of ours and no one ever comes out here. I managed to get a cast of it before those guys trampled it up." Catherine's approving smile tells him that he's done well.

"Get it to the lab pronto. And keep your cell phone handy… we've got a lot to do tonight." She looks back to the crumbling building with her friends still trapped inside and presses her lips together. "Time to find Mr. Wright."


	7. Chapter 7

A/N: Takes place directly after "Grave Danger."

Summary: My thoughts on how Grissom and Sara might have started their relationship...

Disclaimer: CSI belongs to CBS and no one else... I'm just renting the characters :-)

Note: This is my first fanfic EVAR! Any feedback would be greatly appreciated...

* * *

Nick can barely remain standing when Catherine tells the three of them the situation. Archie and Warrick respond with appropriate gravitas, but Nick says nothing. He can't believe this is happening… Grissom and Sara, trapped in a small place, surrounded by explosives… He thinks it's too similar to his own recent torture to be a coincidence. The taunting voice, the targeting of CSIs, the damnable cleverness of all. But the person who kidnapped him was dead—killed himself rather than give them any useful information. Not that they're getting anything useful here. 

When he looks over at Warrick, his friend is studying him intently. Nick cracks a smile to diffuse the situation but Warrick knows him too well to buy it. Warrick starts to speak and Nick can already hear the deep compassion and concern and it's more than he can bear right now. He has yet to open up to any of his coworkers about his ordeal, and he has no intention of starting now of all times. Nick waves him off and Warrick accepts his decision wordlessly.

They both focus on Archie who's gingerly examining the LCD on the mounting pole. Knowing how sensitive it is, Archie has to sustain himself with a visual examination. "This is incredibly sophisticated work," Archie says, almost in awe. "This little guy works on infrared and they don't seem to have the ability to receive communication. I think the LCD screen is preprogrammed… so it's unlikely that our mad bomber is monitoring." The relief that follows that last comment is palpable. "But this transmitter is extremely sensitive… and since it has such fine-tuned transmission capabilities, I think it's safe to say that there are others out here… communicating with each other." He turns back to Catherine who's assumed defacto leadership of the group. "Until I can open it up and take a look, I can't tell you much more."

Catherine thanks him and pulls Nick and Warrick aside. "I think we've done as much as we can here with the bombs and triggers. We have to assume there are more bombs on this site and that anything can set them off." Nick and Warrick exchange worried glances. "Our best course of action at this point is to get the perp into custody, sweat him, and make him tell us how to disarm them." She pauses for emphasis. "It may be our only shot."

Brass joins their discussion, "David's back at the lab with the body. Greg just called and he's identified the tire track as a 265/70R17 tire, standard issue on the 2004 Cadillac Escalade. And wouldn't you know it? Devon Wright drives a 2004 Escalade."

Catherine flashes an exultant smile. "Once we find that car we can test it for soil samples… I imagine this site is pretty unique."

Brass pulls Warrick aside and they start heading to his Denali. "I'm taking 'Rick back to the lab… we'll get Wright for you and bring him to the site." Catherine gives him an acquiescing nod. "We need to go back over the case, find what we missed in the first place."

"Okay, Brass, but this guy is long gone. How are we going to find him?" Warrick's brows are knit as his mind runs any possible scenarios that would make him believe they could succeed where Las Vegas' finest had failed. "The police have been looking for him for a month."

"True," Brass agrees. He brandishes his cell phone like a mystic sword. "But we have something now that we didn't have before."

"Which is?" Warrick asks.

"A body."

Sofia finds Greg in the lab. It amuses her slightly because Greg seems so comfortable here, even though he worked his ass off to get out of the lab. She supposes they all come back there. It's where they all started and there is a kind of nostalgia about working with sterile microscopes and slides instead of gruesome crime scenes.

"Hey Greg," she says quietly to avoid startling him. "Just heard from Brass… he and Warrick are on their way to give us a hand."

"Good," Greg says vaguely as he scrapes dirt particles from his plaster tire track cast.

Curious, Sofia sits down next to him. She watches him work for a moment, impressed by his quiet efficiency. Greg has a reputation for being something of a spazz in the lab, but when he's concentrating, you'd never know. "What do you know about the original case?" she asks him.

"I can tell you about the evidence we collected. Vics were Christine and Brad DeSoto. Perp kicked in their front door as they were unloading their bags from a camping trip to Yosemite. We matched the shoe print to one found in Devon Wright's home. After he knocked over Christine, a struggle ensued… Brad managed to fight him a bit, got some epithelials under his nails that we later matched to Devon Wright, before getting his head slammed against the door. A neighbor phoned in the disturbance. Police found him there, unconscious and bleeding from the head. Christine was nowhere to be found and all of their valuables—mostly jewelry and some cash—were gone."

"Wow," is all Sophia can manage. "We didn't hear much about this case on days. Sounds like you got your man."

"Wish we had. He was long gone by the time we got to his house. He disappeared completely along with Christine. We thought maybe he was still keeping her alive… until now." Greg's voice is calm and even, but Sofia can tell by his trembling hands that this case bothers him. It bothers all of them—the brutality, the pointlessness of it. Wright was just a guy who was pissed about going to prison. It wasn't enough for him to jump bail—he had to ruin the life of the cop that brought him down. Dirty revenge, plain and simple. Sofia rises in disgust and turns to leave. Before she does, she reassures Greg, "We're going to get this guy."

Greg sighs, nods, and goes back to his microscope.

Warrick assumes he and Brass are heading back to the lab, but they make a stop first. They pull up to a somewhat run-down neighborhood. The fences are all chain link, the windows are barred, and the lawns are brown and untended. It's after midnight, but Brass doesn't care—he doesn't get to sleep, so why should anyone else? Especially when the sleeper in question knows where to find their killer.

After a few pounds on the door, Brass hears movement. "Who is it?" a deep feminine voice asks. He had expected her to sound more afraid, after all, who gets visitors in the middle of the night? But she sounds more annoyed than anything else.

"Las Vegas PD, ma'am. Can we speak to you for a moment? It's urgent."

He hears a bolt turning and the door opens a crack to reveal a tall, portly woman in a house dress glaring at them. "What do _you_ want, Las Vegas PD?" Her last few words drip with contempt.

"I'm so sorry to disturb you at this hour, Mrs. Wright," Brass oozes charm, which might seem genuine to the untrained eye. But Warrick knows better—this is Brass' "Good Cop" at its finest. "I hate to give you information this way, but we have reason to believe we may have located your son." Warrick fights to keep his face expressionless as Brass blatantly lies to the poor woman.

"You found Devon? Where?" She seems more suspicious than concerned and Warrick knows that she's been holding information on his whereabouts for some time. Hardly surprising—it's what mothers do.

"Well, we found a body at an old water treatment plant. We don't know how long it's been there… maybe less than 24 hours… but we found an Escalade registered to your son at the site. And in the car, there was evidence of…" he whispers in maudlin horror "…_foul play._"

Mrs. Wright is aghast and covers her mouth with both hands. Then she stands back from them, her hands out as if she were banishing the devil. "If someone killed my son, it was probably one of you cops! You tried to railroad him and you couldn't! So you killed him!"

"Ma'am, please, we need someone to identify the body."

"Identify it yourself!" she screams and slams the door.

Brass walks a few feet away with a Cheshire cat smile. He speed dials Greg. "Sanders, trace the call being made right now from 47155 Chrysanthemum Road. Call me back when you have a location." He glances at Warrick whose smile is full of amusement and awe. "He'll be in interrogation room one within the hour."

* * *

**I realize that I've somewhat abandoned Grissom and Sara, which is who this fic is supposedly about. But I wanted it to be a complete CSI story--not just a pairing story. Don't worry, though, I'll get back to them in the next chapter!**


	8. Chapter 8

A/N: Takes place directly after "Grave Danger."

Summary: My thoughts on how Grissom and Sara might have started their relationship...

Disclaimer: CSI belongs to CBS and no one else... I'm just renting the characters :-)

Note: This is my first fanfic EVAR! Any feedback would be greatly appreciated...

* * *

It's been a couple hours that they've been stuck inside the tank room in the filtration plant. Grissom and Sara have managed to find a place to sit on top of one of the less damaged tanks that has fallen on its side. It's not exactly a comfortable surface, but at least they aren't knee-deep in muck anymore.

They intermittently use their flashlights to get a look at the room and its current state. Ever since the last explosion, the entire building has been rendered unstable. Every so often they hear more movement underground, more water sloshing up. It's nearly imperceptible, but the room is, in fact, flooding very slowly. In addition, the floor has partially collapsed, causing the entire room to tilt towards the door that leads into the stairwell. Grissom's nearly positive that the stairwell has flooded completely and what's left in the room is the remnants from the cistern and the underground spring.

They've been quiet now for sometime. Mindless chitchat and nervous chatter about their situation has died down and been replaced with a tense silence. While Sara seems to be contented with it, Grissom isn't. But his last two attempts at talking with her have gone far from smoothly. _Still,_ he thinks, _at least now she can't run off. I've got a captive audience._

Grissom takes a deep breath and is about to launch into an invitation to a discussion when Sara shoots him down. "Don't," she says with finality.

He lets all his air out in exasperation. "Don't what, Sara?"

"Don't start with that 'we need to talk' stuff." She still can't bear to look at him. "This isn't a good time."

"Is there ever a good time?"

"Maybe there was, but there isn't anymore," she replies. He hears sadness in her voice and it breaks his heart. _How much have I hurt her?_ He wonders. Then suddenly he has to know—has to know why she's so distant, what exactly is making her shy away from him entirely.

He runs his hand down the side of her face and hooks his finger under her chin, pulling it up to make her look him in the eye. "It would be easier for you, wouldn't it? It would be easier if what I felt for you was undefined and fleeting… and I kissed you out of some unstable emotional reaction to Nick's kidnapping. But I've got news for you… it isn't and it wasn't. For either of us."

Grissom's playing a dangerous game now and he knows it. Sara is known equally for her brilliant mind and her incendiary temper, but not at all for her restraint and level-headedness. He's certainly tested all of her limits in the past as her supervisor, and lately as her would-be lover. How much provocation can she take before she blows up at him? He's willing to find out if it means that he'll get some answers from her.

Instead of responding in fury to his boldness, she gets quiet, as though she's thinking of some unrelated thing. He studies her for a moment, wondering what she could be thinking about. Finally she seems to come to some sort of decision and says, "You can't do this, Grissom."

"Do what?" he asks in genuine confusion.

"You can't just wake up one day and decide you want me. You can't expect me to just forget what I've gone through over you."

"First of all, I don't expect anything from you. That's not why I've done any of this. I have… hopes, not expectations." She smirks a little at this, but still has her eyes averted. "And second of all, I didn't just wake up and discover that I had feelings for you. I've always known about them… I've always had them. I just couldn't bring myself to act on them."

That last statement baits her, awakens her anger. "And why couldn't you, huh, Grissom? And don't tell me it's about our careers because we both know that you aren't exactly the most ambitious person. You've done a lot worse to set your career back."

Grissom sighs and nods. This is going to be a lot harder than he thought. "No, you're right. It's not just about the job." He takes a deep breath, considers how to start, how to explain. He realizes that he's about to lay his soul bare before her and hopes with all his heart that she will be gentle with it. "I've never really had a serious relationship, Sara. I've only dated people that were interesting to me intellectually or who were strange and off-balance. I did it because I knew that I would never get too serious about them… they would never affect my life, my routines, in a noticeable way. I didn't want to share myself with anyone… I've been… afraid to.

"But you challenged me to do that. To open myself up to you and make you part of my life. I knew you wouldn't be satisfied with anything casual… there's always been too much between us. So when you casually asked me to have dinner with you, I assumed that it was much more than that."

"It was," she agrees.

"Right, so to someone like me who's never been that close to any woman before, it was paralyzing. Can you understand that?"

She nods solemnly, not wanting to stop him from speaking his heart to her. She had thought it would be painful to hear, but it's somewhat liberating to know that his rejection of her wasn't her fault. And that it wasn't an easy decision for him either.

"So, you've been wrestling with the decision ever since?" she asks, somewhat rhetorically.

"Yes," he says softly.

"Was it horribly painful? Torturous, even?" she asks. He sees the smirk on her face. Somehow, he's found a way through her defenses. She's not using humor this time to deflect or misdirect him. She's using to show him that he's forgiven.

"Yes, incredibly so," he says dramatically. His fingers find her face and push back a lock of stray hair. Her eyes close as his fingertips make contact with her skin. "It was unbearable… I couldn't take it anymore," he's serious now and so is she.

"Couldn't take what?" she whispers as her face nears his, their lips a hairsbreadth apart.

"I couldn't stand not touching you." Their lips finally find each other's. Passion escalating, their arms wrap around each other, bodies press together. It's suddenly so quiet, Sara can hear Grissom's breathing become tense and shallow.

Then it's not quiet. The room rumbles with a deep rhythm. "Did you feel that?" she asks, barely managing to pull her face from his.

"Oh yeah," he grunts and kisses her mouth again. She decides it was only her imagination and gives Grissom's lips her full attention. The second time the room shifts, there can be no question that something is seriously wrong. They pull away from each other and shine their flashlights to the only working door at the back of the room. The room has clearly tilted further and more water washes through the crack under the closed door.

Then Sara hears something else, further away. It sounds like splintering wood. She finds it strange since the room is all concrete and plaster. She looks over at Grissom to get his impression of what's happening, and her breath catches in her throat when she sees the dread in his eyes.

"What is it?" she demands. "Where is it coming from?"

"Outside," Grissom says with more calmness than he feels. "It's the supports on the big tank outside. They're collapsing."

"You mean…?"

"Yeah… the tank is too heavy now that the ground has been undermined. It's falling over."

"Where?" Sara asks, but she knows the answer.

Grissom's eyes lock with hers. "On us."


	9. Chapter 9

A/N: Takes place directly after "Grave Danger."

Summary: My thoughts on how Grissom and Sara might have started their relationship...

Disclaimer: CSI belongs to CBS and no one else... I'm just renting the characters :-)

Note: This is my first fanfic EVAR! Any feedback would be greatly appreciated...

* * *

Brass' estimation is fairly accurate. In less than 90 minutes, Warrick is staring at Devon Wright through the one-way mirror outside of the interrogation room. He had expected Devon to look like some hardened criminal, but this guy looks like he'd be pals with Greg—he's got long sandy blonde hair, some well placed tattoos, and a general air of smugness that Warrick can barely stomach. For someone who's on the hook for killing a cop, this guy is downright blasé about it.

Brass approaches Warrick with Devon's sheet, all of his dirty secrets laid out in one file. Warrick can't help but crack a smile when he says, "So how did you know this guy was still in town?"

Brass chuckles, amused at his own cleverness for once. It's not easy being surrounded with deductive geniuses and Brass is pleased to get some praise. "I checked up on his mother before we headed over. About a week ago, she went in for surgery on her stomach… ulcers I think. Anyway, yesterday she was discharged and was picked up by… her son."

"Nice," Warrick exclaims appreciatively.

"Last time this guy was arrested, he was not at all forthcoming… Let's see if I'm more persuasive than the last detective."

Warrick and Brass go into the small, claustrophobic room and Devon looks at them with nothing less than disdain. "So, you found me," he spits. "I get that you lied to my mom—really classy move—but how did you swarm in on me?"

Brass puts his hand up to silence Devon then animatedly looks in his pockets. He pulls out his badge and slams it on the table. "You see this, Wright? This is a police badge. That means I ask the questions and you give the answers."

Devon rolls his eyes and Brass continues. "We already got you for the computer scam you pulled last year, and for jumping bail. But now we've got you for assault and murder."

"Oooh… scary." Devon leans back in his chair. He looks more like a badly behaved child in the principal's office than a murder suspect. Warrick is perplexed—most people react with strong emotions when confronted by the police and accused of a serious crime. They're usually afraid, or angry, or completely in shock. This guy couldn't care less. It's strange, to say the least.

"Listen up, Wright. Your attitude might fool some rookie traffic cop but I've seen enough to know that you won't last a day in prison. It's probably why you jumped bail the first time. What you do have going for you is that those cute little bombs you set up have trapped two of my people in that filtration plant. So, if you tell us how to disarm them, I'll make sure the DA goes easy on you."

Devon laughs in Brass' face. "You gotta be kidding me, pops. I don't know anything about an assault, a murder, or any bombs. Since this is obviously a case of mistaken identity, I'll just see my way out of here. No harm, no foul."

Now Brass is laughing. He looks over to Warrick to start laying down the evidence and Warrick is all too happy to comply. First Warrick throws down a photo of a shoeprint. This was taken from the front door of the DeSoto residence. You kicked it in and surprised them when they got back from Yosemite. You were probably staking that place out for days. We matched the shoeprint to a pair of shoes taken from your apartment."

Devon's face cracks a little and Warrick continues, throwing down a photo of Brad DeSoto just after he was picked up by the paramedics. "This is a picture of Lieutenant DeSoto, the guy who arrested you for computer fraud. His head was smashed into the wall by his front door. There was a scuffle, and he managed to wound the assailant. We took scrapings under his fingernails and matched the DNA to you. Mind if we look at your arms to confirm?"

Now Devon's face has taken on a distinctly greenish pallor. He hides his arms under the table and looks at Warrick with wide, panicked eyes. Warrick throws down another photo. "This is a photo taken of a tire tread found near the tank where we found Christine DeSoto's body. It's the same tire as the ones on your Escalade. Your car's in impound currenly and it's only a matter of time before we match the soil sample from the tire tread to your car."

Last, Warrick throws down a photo of one of the transceivers that control the bombs at the filtration plant. "And here's a photo of one of the communication devices at the scene of Christine's body dump. We can't touch it right now because we're afraid it might set a bomb off and, as Captain Brass said, our people—our _friends—_are still trapped inside. But what do you bet that when we do get a hold of them, that your fingerprints will be on them?"

Devon jumps up from the table, letting out a shriek. "This is complete bullshit! I'm being set up!"

"Yeah, your mom said something like that too," Brass says in mock sympathy. "Here's how it looks to us, though. You were pissed that DeSoto finally caught you for that cute data-mining scam you had going. You were looking at twenty years. So you decided to jump bail, but not before taking down the guy who put you in jail. So you waiting outside the DeSoto's house and when they got home, you waited until they just got inside the door and were nice and prone. Then you cracked Brad's head against the wall and kidnapped Christine. You had some fun with her, I'm sure, but then you got tired of her. You strangled her, dumped her body, and, just for the last laugh, you decided to rig the body dump site with explosives to really stick it to the man, huh, Devon?"

Now Devon is pacing around the room. At first it's unclear that he heard what Brass said over his mumbling and ranting. Finally, he shouts, "No, no, _no!_ I didn't do any of that! Okay, yeah, I did the computer fraud thing, sure. Everyone knows that… but I'm no killer! I mean, look at my sheet… I always have a backer… none of this stuff is my idea. I just fill jobs for other people. I got paid to do that data-mining. They guy who paid me posted my bail then helped me get out of town. He gave me $10,000 and told me he'd take care of the evidence against me… he'd make sure it would disappear. But he told me not to come back to Vegas."

"Really?" Brass asks, barely hiding his sarcasm. "And who is this patron of yours?"

"I don't know, man! I never met the guy. He contacted me over the internet… At first he gave me simple jobs, legal jobs, but then we started getting into more serious shit, you know? Then, when I got arrested, he told me to meet him at his house and he'd help me get out of town." Devon turns back to the two of them, his confident demeanor shattered. "I did build those transceivers for the same guy, but I never knew he'd attach them to bombs. Look at my sheet, man! There's nothing violent there… and nothing where I'm the mastermind. I'm just a hired brain, a nobody." He sits down heavily and puts his face in his hands.

Brass and Warrick exchange looks that entail a whole conversation. What this guy says, while crazy, is too crazy to be a put-on. Brass shrugs and is willing to indulge Wright a little longer, as long as they get the information they need.

"We believe you, Devon," Brass says soothingly—he's back into "Good Cop" mode now. "Why don't you take us to the place where you met with the guy who hired you? Then maybe we can figure some of this out."

"Sure, man, sure. Whatever you say."

"Just one thing first. Tell us how to disarm the transceivers so we can get our people to safety."

"I didn't arm them. I just built them. They have infrared beams that shoot out in random directions in random intervals. They were never designed to be armed with anything."

"So what are you saying?"

"I'm saying that I have no idea how to shut them off."

* * *

**Thanks again for all of the great reviews! I'm going to try to get this done by the end of the week. I'm guessing it'll end up being around 15 chapters. Hope that's not too long!**


	10. Chapter 10

A/N: Takes place directly after "Grave Danger."

Summary: My thoughts on how Grissom and Sara might have started their relationship...

Disclaimer: CSI belongs to CBS and no one else... I'm just renting the characters :-)

Note: This is my first fanfic EVAR! Any feedback would be greatly appreciated...

* * *

The shaking inside the filtration tank room is almost unbearable. Sara swears she can feel the fillings in her teeth rattling loose. She and Grissom have gotten into protective positions on the floor. She thinks back to earthquake drills in school where the kids had to hide under their desks and cover their eyes and ears with their arms and hands. She is amazed at how quickly she has devolved back into that childhood-ingrained protocol in the face of an unknown danger. There hadn't been an earthquake while she was in school so, despite the mental preparation she's had since childhood, Sara is terrified. 

Gil's scared, too, but as always, he puts on a brave face for her. The tremors intensify and Gil grasps her hand as they brace for impact.

It does not disappoint. The two of them are thrown apart as the water tower crashes into the side of the building farthest from them. Shaken and disoriented, Gil manages to stand after a moment. He's instantly relieved when he sees Sara crouching near the ground but beginning to stand as well. He makes eye contact with her and she nods grimly before he can ask if she's okay.

The room looks pretty much the same as it did before the water tower collapsed and he's comforted to know that at least the tank filtration room is still safe for them.

That is, until water starts seeping under the doorway from the stairwell. A lot of water.

Sara notices it as well. "Where's this coming from? The cistern?"

Gil shakes his head and finds his way to the back door again. He takes a deep breath, steels himself, and opens it.

More water washes past him, soaking him to his knees. His stomach falls as he looks at the ceiling. The tank did indeed crash into the building, breaking a huge hole in the roof. Only the tank itself, so old and rusted out, has been damaged as well. The impact opened an even bigger hole in the side of the tank and it's now vacating its contents into the building, which was already flooded.

Sara is right behind him, and she looks to him for guidance as she always does. _Everyone seems to think I have all the answers,_ Gil thinks regretfully. _And this time, they'd better be right._

"The tank's too big…" Sara nearly shouts to overcome the sound of rushing water. "It's going to flood out this room completely." She doesn't ask him to tell her what to do, but her implication is obvious.

There's no time to think. The water is already waist level and getting higher by the second. No time to call for help, no time to tell the others what's happening. There's only time to tell her, to save them both, he hopes.

Gil looks at her levelly. "Sara, are you a good swimmer?"

She nods firmly, and he thinks how she can sometimes look so much like a child. She's told him that she never really got to be one, but he swears he can still see vestiges of the little girl still in her wide brown eyes. She's always had trouble trusting people, but now she's going to have to.

Gil puts his hand into her sleeve, winding it around until his grip is tight. She clasps his arm with her hand, fingers tense and gripping tightly. "Do not let go of me," he commands. "When this room fills up, we're going to swim up into the tank. Do you understand?"

"Yes," she says throatily.

As the water moves up around their chests and necks, Gil Grissom pulls Sara into the stairwell and waits.

Catherine paces anxiously outside the established perimeter. When the tank goes down, she nearly loses it. Everyone hits the ground, expecting another explosion. But those are her _people_ in there. The people who are counting on her to get them out of there.

And right now she's failing miserably. Archie is one of the first to get up after the shock of the tank crashing wears off. He continues to examine the transceiver, hoping to find something on it that will help them.

Nick helps Catherine up and the two of them stare in horror at the ruined building. The large exterior tank is at a 45-degree angle against the roof of the building. And it's leaking. Nick shouts into his walkie-talkie, begging Grissom or Sara to respond. He hears nothing but static. "Cath, we gotta do something," he cries. "We can't just let them die in there. We can't…"

"Nick, I know," she says as soothingly as possible. Nick's taking this hard—really hard. But that's hardly surprising. She can't even imagine how he's torturing himself right now. Grissom saved his life and he wants desperately to return the favor.

"Can we send in helicopters? Pull that tank off before it floods the entire building?"

"I don't think so," Archie replies. "Look at these infrared beams." He sprays a light aerosol powder in the air. Suddenly, the red beams are visible, and clearly pointing in every direction, even vertically. "The beams move around, we couldn't be sure that they wouldn't hit a helicopter. Even if it were directly over the tank."

Nick curses and storms away and Archie goes back to his examination. Catherine exhales slowly. _Great_, she thinks. _One of them is getting hysterical and the other one is dissociating. Guess that means I've got to be the level-headed one… _She shakes her head at what she believes is terrible miscasting and calls Brass.

When he answers, she fills him in on the situation and asks him for an update.

"Turns out Devon had a backer, who we believe is responsible for the bombs. He's taking us to the guy's place. Maybe we'll get lucky."

"Let's hope so. Keep me posted." She hangs up and helplessly watches the water tank pour death on Gil and Sara.

The water is cold. Damn cold. After a few seconds, Gil and Sara are treading water, floating up towards the ceiling. Once the water fills the room, he plans to swim into the tank…the only place that will have air and where they'll be safe. _Until the tank collapses on itself_, he thinks quickly, but pushes the thought away. Right now, it's the only chance they have.

He can't stand the thought of looking at her right now. He's terrified of what he'll see. Fear? Hope? Trust? Any of those would be equally distressing to him. He uses his left arm to paddle while his right hand hold onto her. He can't let go of her right now—he needs to know she with him and safe.

Their only source of light is the flashlight Grissom holds in his mouth, which under different circumstances, would be quite hilarious. The flashlight is supposed to be waterproof, and Gil hopes it's more than just advertising.

They reach the ceiling, and the water continues to rise. He takes a deep breath and hears her doing the same before he pulls himself under and swims toward the hole in the ceiling.

In less than a minute, he's found the surface and pants from the exertion. Sara seems to have had a better time of it as she emerges next to him, breathing easily. The water has hit an equilibrium and Gil trusts that there will be no more surprises, at least for a little while.

He's startled when Sara takes the flashlight out of his mouth and shines it on the walls. She's apparently a very good swimmer as she treads water without the use of her arms. Canvassing the sides of the tank doesn't provide either of them with much hope though. It appears that the only hole in the tank is the one they just swam through.

"No going back now," she says, trying to keep her voice even. She shines the narrow beam on a railing that leads up to a platform that would have been at the top of the tank, if the tank weren't halfway on its side. She pauses for a moment and asks, "Is that a door?"

Without a word, they both swim towards the platform, which must have been used for workers to observe and test the water in the tank. Gil manages to climb onto it and helps Sara up as well. It's at an awkward angle, but they manage to scale it up to the doorway. Gil pulls on it—hard—but it doesn't budge. "Figures," he grits. "Rusted closed. We won't be getting out this way."

Sara feels like her legs are going to give out, and sits down quickly to avoid collapsing. Gil calls her name softly and she replies that she's fine in the most unconvincing manner possible. Gil sits next to her, saying nothing. She puts her head on her shoulder and he can feel her sighing, but he's not sure whether it's with sadness or frustration.

The flashlight beam is noticeably dimmer, whether from the water exposure or from overuse, is impossible to say. Sara clicks it off and the darkness consumes them again. After a few minutes, she begins to notice how _cold_ it is. The temperature is dropping steadily and they are both completely saturated.

She's shivering when Gil asks her rhetorically, "You cold?"

"It's got to be getting into the 50s now," she replies through chattering teeth. "There's no way we'll dry off in here with all this water. 'S only gonna get colder."

The shock of her statements hit him at once. It's colder in the tank than it is outside and there's no telling how cold it will get. They're both wet and that makes it worse. He clenches his fists in resentment—they can't have survived this long, made it through all of those dangers, just to die of hypothermia.

He tries the walkie-talkie but isn't at all surprised when it fails to respond. Wet batteries don't work all that well.

Sara's voice winds towards him in the darkness. She says his name quietly and he hears despair in her voice that shakes him out of his own depressing thought patterns. She's afraid and she needs him. He's got to think of something before the cold overtakes them.

"Sara," his voice is deep and strong and it hits her like a thunderbolt. Suddenly the air is full of delicious tension. Her breath catches in her throat and she feels him next to him, aware now of his proximity, the sound of his breathing. He puts his hands on her shoulders and starts pulling off her vest. She makes a questioning noise but he shushes her before she can form words.

"Sara, take your clothes off."

* * *

**Sorry it took so long for me to post again... I'll try to finish this by the end of the week. Feel free to let me know how I'm doing! Thanks for all your reviews!**


	11. Chapter 11

A/N: Takes place directly after "Grave Danger."

Summary: My thoughts on how Grissom and Sara might have started their relationship...

Disclaimer: CSI belongs to CBS and no one else... I'm just renting the characters :-)

Note: This is my first fanfic EVAR! Any feedback would be greatly appreciated...

* * *

The sky is growing light by the time Brass and Devon Wright pile into his Denali. Wright is still handcuffed and Detective Vartann keeps a steady eye on him from the back seat. Next to Vartann is Warrick Brown, anxiously holding his crime scene case in his lap. Everyone is extremely tense as Wright babbles on about his adventures before leaving the greater Las Vegas area. 

"Yeah, so, when I met this guy… I thought he would be cool, you know? Like me… But he was a total freak—I think he was a meth head or something. He invited me inside the house and then attacked me. The guy was so paranoid, he thought I was a cop, even though he knew my voice. Once he calmed down, he gave me ten thousand cash and told me to leave everything, even my car. Man, I loved that Escalade…"

Finally, Brass interrupts him to get some useful information. "Devon, how do we know the guy you met is the guy who hired you?"

"I talked to him a few times over Skype. I recognized his voice. This is definitely the guy."

Sofia's voice buzzes over the intercom. "Brass, I'm going to try to look up this guy's alias—I assume he didn't give you his real name, Mr. Wright. Maybe I can find some intel on him."

"Sure," Devon agrees, almost enthusiastically. He's gone from arrogant holdout to helpful snitch in record time, Brass thinks. Self-preservation always wins out. "The guy called himself Edina," Devon finishes.

Sofia's laughter echoes through the car. "What's so funny?" Brass says, getting irritated. Nothing's more annoying than being on the outside of an inside joke.

"Oh come on," Sofia chides. "Edina? That's funny."

"Why?" Devon asks.

"If he's Edina, that makes you Patsy." She erupts into laughter again and the four men in the car shrug helplessly.

Luckily, Warrick's phone beeps. It's Greg back at the lab. "Brown here," Warrick intones.

"Hey, Warrick. I've been looking into Devon's file and he's right—all of the evidence against him: files, his computer, stuff like that—all gone from the evidence locker. Just vanished."

Warrick's face falls. "Dust everything for prints, Greg—filing cabinets, doorknobs, folders, everything. We need to find out who stole those files."

There's a pause as Warrick imagines that Greg is contemplating the huge amount of work in front of him. Considering all of the people who've gone in and out of there in the last month or so, just taking fingerprints will take hours. But they don't have hours. They need to know the identity of the guy who set those bombs.

Warrick thinks about Grissom and Sara trapped and alone in the building. His throat clenches as he involuntarily remembers Nicky in the plastic box under the earth. At least they got to see him though. From what Catherine told him a few minutes ago, Grissom and Sara might already be drowned in there. He balls his hand in his lap into a tight fist, trying to make himself concentrate on his part in rescuing them. Greg's voice pulls him out of the fog. "Warrick? You still there?"

"I'm here," Warrick says weakly, his voice nearly cracking. "One thing, Greg, who was the last person to access the evidence in the DeSoto case?"

"That would be B. DeSoto. Makes sense, I guess."

Devon chooses this moment to pipe up. "There! That house there. That's where I met the guy… Edina."

"Is this some kind of joke?" Vartann demands angrily.

"No joke. That's his house… I'm sure of it."

"You have got to be shitting me," Brass mutters.

"What is it?" Warrick asks.

"That's the DeSoto house. Brad and Christine used to live there."

"You have got to be shitting me!" Catherine exclaims into her cell phone. "I can't believe it."

"It's true," Greg replies. "DeSoto was the mastermind."

"But why?" Catherine asks, completely thunderstruck.

"I can't say all of it for sure, but there are a few things I managed to uncover. Doc Robbins says Christine's body was in the water for at least three weeks. That means that she was killed immediately and not kidnapped and held hostage, as we originally thought. Devon Wright was most likely still in jail at the time of her murder. He hadn't made bail yet."

"So Brad DeSoto made bail for him… just so he could be the fall guy," Catherine surmises.

"Something like that. Anyway, it seems DeSoto really was the one behind all of the ATM data-mining scams. We checked into his records and he has a few offshore accounts in the Caymans. Getting information about them will be nearly impossible, but what's a cop doing with tax-free bank accounts, I ask you?"

"An excellent question. So DeSoto really did make good on his promise to destroy the evidence against Wright?"

"It seems so. If the DA ever wanted to bring Wright to trial for the computer scams, he'd be up shit creek. There's nothing left, not even the notes he supposedly took on the case."

"Well, we can assume that Wright killed his wife in a fit of passion or something. Word around here is that their relationship was somewhat tempestuous. So, why not just let it go? We never would have found her body. All of the transceivers, the bombs, totally unnecessary if he just wanted to get away with it."

Greg cracks a smile at his own clever deduction skills. "You'd be right except for one thing. Devon said that his contact ordered the transceivers about a week ago. Well, almost two weeks ago, Brad DeSoto tried to call in his wife's life insurance policy. All cops have them, so it didn't set off any alarms that she had one worth more than $500,000. But there was a hitch…"

Catherine's eyes light up. "No body, no proof of death."

"No death certificate," Greg finishes. "If he wants that money, he has to prove she's dead. We have to find a body."

"So all of this… the bombs and anonymous call… was just to distract us while he collected on her life insurance policy?" Catherine is taken aback. Surely, no one could be so cold blooded. But, then again, this is a man who murdered his wife and dumped her body in the loneliest piece of real estate in Las Vegas. Thinking back over the cases of the last ten years, she's sure she's seen plenty of acts even more heartless.

Brad DeSoto has proven to be cleverer than anyone ever imagined. Not only did he front an entire computer fraud operation, he managed to get away with killing his wife. At least, until now. _He's way too smart to just come in for questioning,_ she thinks. _If we ask him to come in to answer some questions, he'll smell blood in the water and we'll never get him. But we need him._

She looks back at the ruined building that holds the bodies, either dead or alive, of her friends. And then she gets an idea. "Greg, tell David to call Brad DeSoto. Tell him that we found his wife's body and could he please identify it. Tell him we need him to identify the body before we can issue a death certificate. And once he's there, get Brass to hold him and interrogate the shit out of him, okay? He's the only one who knows how to shut those transceivers off."

"Awesome," Greg cackles, suitably impressed. Then his tone quickly sobers. "But what will we do if he doesn't cooperate? How can we… find… rescue… Grissom and Sara without his help?"

"I don't know, Greg," she whispers back. _God help me, I don't know_.

* * *

**Sorry this keeps taking me so long... real life keeps intervening! Thanks again for all of your reviews and encouragement!**


	12. Chapter 12

A/N: Takes place directly after "Grave Danger."

Summary: My thoughts on how Grissom and Sara might have started their relationship...

Disclaimer: CSI belongs to CBS and no one else... I'm just renting the characters :-)

Note: This is my first fanfic EVAR! Any feedback would be greatly appreciated...

* * *

Time seems to stand still as Sara lets Grissom slowly take her clothes off. He starts with her vest, and her body seems to rebound on itself after the vest's heavy weight falls away from her. The flashlight lost its power about an hour ago, by her estimation. Luckily, a small amount of light comes in through the myriad of small holes in the tank's walls, but still she can barely see the outline of him, much less any features. It's maddening to feel him undressing her and to not see his face. 

His hands move down to her jeans, automatically, even robotically unbuttoning them and pulling them down. She feels like she can barely breathe and her mind begins to spin. Her body obeys him, though, and she pulls her legs up to help him remove her sodden pants. Her shirt disappears next until she's sitting next to him in only her bra and panties. She expects those to go next, but Grissom's hands have moved away from her. Now she can feel the cold devouring her, making all of the hairs on her body stand up.

She hears him pulling at his own clothes and finds herself helping him, using her long, nimble fingers to undo the buttons on his shirt. He grunts his appreciation and moves on to his pants.

In a moment, they are sitting side-by-side, in only their underclothes. Sara's mind revolts. _Not like this,_ she thinks. _I don't want it to end like this. Not like this._

Involuntarily, she says the words, "Not like this, Grissom…"

"Shhhh," he whispers in her ear. "It's all right, Sara." She can feel him moving behind her. Her skin is on fire as he wraps his arms around her, folding her arms against her chest. His legs envelop hers and he pulls her back against his chest, holding her tightly. "We need to use our body heat. That's all I'm doing."

She begins giggling at the thought of Grissom trying to seduce her in a rusted-out water tank. Not even Gil Grissom is that clueless. "Grissom, I know what you're doing. That's not what I meant."

"Oh." She can't tell if he's relieved or disappointed.

"I…uh… just meant that…" She leans her head back, resting her cheek against his—a lone effort to glean some comfort from him. He presses against her, savoring the contact, the intimacy they never shared until now that their lives are at stake. _Figures_, she thinks. "I don't want to die here, Grissom."

His voice is soft, reassuring, but full of lies. "We won't die here. They'll find us."

Sara says nothing, but snuggles against him, feeling his body warm hers up. She thinks about that warmth and hopes that if she dies, that she's calm like she is now—safe in the arms of the man she loves—and not afraid.

David hangs up the phone and his hands are shaking. "I just talked to Mr. DeSoto… I told him that we need him to make an ID. He's in Laughlin and he's on his way."

"I bet he is," Brass counters.

"God, I can't believe this guy," David continues. "He's a murderer, but he sounds so nonchalant about everything." He throws up his hands in confusion. As a coroner, David deals with bodies—none of them with speaking roles—but he hasn't had much experience conversing with the people who made them that way. Greg understands his fish-out-of-water feelings, and pats him on the back in solidarity. David gives him an uneasy smile in response.

"I want to go back to the scene," Greg announces. "There's nothing left to process here… we'd probably do more good out at the site."

Brass considers it at the two of them walk down the hallway away from the morgue. Certainly, he can understand Greg's eagerness to help his friends, but from what Brass understands about the situation, there's not much processing to be done there as well. Add to that, the fact that Grissom and Sara might already be dead, and the existence of explosives in the area…

"Look, Sanders," Brass starts and sees the disappointment flood Greg's eyes. "Nick and Catherine are out there already… we need you and Warrick here if another case comes up."

"Morning shift's already arrived early to take care of that."

"Greg, the scene isn't exactly safe, you know? I'm nervous enough just having Catherine and Nick, not to mention Archie, out there. I think you're better off here in case new information comes in." Brass doesn't exactly sound authoritative, probably because he himself wants to be out there. But there's about to be a crucial interrogation of one Mr. Brad DeSoto, and he wants to be the one to let the smug bastard know that they've got his number.

Greg looks desperate, and Brass realizes that there will be no reasoning with the young CSI. "I can't just _sit here_. The waiting is making me crazy."

Brass is about to answer when some commotion at the end of the hall catches their attention. Devon Wright, still handcuffed, comes careening around the corner with Vartann in hot pursuit. "I said, Let me talk to that Detective! I want to talk to him."

Brass stops the row with a small wave of his hand. "I'm here, Devon, what can I do for you?"

Brass sees now that Devon Wright is livid. He shoots Vartann a hard look and the lieutenant shakes his head with embarrassment as Wright launches into a tirade. "I overheard these meatheads laughing about the guy who framed me up—it was that goddamn _cop!_" He says the final word like it dirties up his mouth. "And now I understand that DeSoto asshole is coming here! I want to talk to him. I want to look him in the face and ask him why he chose _my life_ to fuck up!"

Vartann tries to grab Devon's arm to calm him down, but Devon shakes him off. Brass can see that this situation is going bad fast. It's no secret that the hacker was just a pawn in DeSoto's master game, but he's still useful to them. If they are going to even have a hope of putting DeSoto away, they are going to need Devon's help and a lot of it. But right now Devon's out of control angry and that isn't helping anyone. Nor would allowing him to confront Brad DeSoto.

"Devon," Brass says in his most calm and understanding voice. "I understand why you'd want to confront DeSoto, but we need to get some information out of him and he won't give anything up if he realizes we're onto him. So we need you to sit tight for a bit. You'll get your chance to screw him back, believe me."

"Do you really think he'll tell you anything? That guy is smarter than you and me, and half the police force combined. What exactly do you think you'll get out of him?"

"Well, for starters, how to shut off those transceivers and get my people to safety."

Devon snorts with complete derision. Then Greg pipes up. "He's right, Brass. This guy put all kinds of people in danger with his little explosives ring. Once he figures out that we know he's behind it, I don't think he'll give anything up. If he tells us how to disarm them, it'll be the same as admitting he did it."

"Exactly!" Devon says triumphantly. "So let me have a few minutes alone with him… I'd only need a couple to feel better…"

Brass ignores him and addresses Greg. "Sanders, do you have an alternative? This guy is the only one who knows how to shut those damn bombs off. If he doesn't tell us how…"

Greg purposefully walks over to Devon Wright and clasps his shoulder. "This guy might be able to. Let me take him to the site, Brass. He might be our only chance."

Devon nods emphatically, and his voice is suddenly contrite. "I never wanted anyone to get hurt, sir. That's not what I do. If I can help your people, I want to try."

Brass shakes his head, marveling at his own willingness to accept questionable ideas. But Greg's right about one thing: Devon Wright might be the only chance Grissom and Sara have. He takes a long look at the gangly, sandy-haired surfer and chuckles. "Vartann, take these two to the site. Let's hope Sanders' faith isn't misplaced."

Devon and Greg both grin and for a moment Brass thinks the two look enough alike to be brothers. Vartann escorts them down the hall towards the parking lot and Brass steels himself to match wits with the cunning Brad DeSoto. His concentration is interrupted by Greg shouting, "What about Warrick? He's gonna be pissed if he's left out!"

Brass grimaces, but nods his acquiescence. "Good luck," he mutters under his breath. "We're _all_ going to need it."


	13. Chapter 13

A/N: Takes place directly after "Grave Danger."

Summary: My thoughts on how Grissom and Sara might have started their relationship...

Disclaimer: CSI belongs to CBS and no one else... I'm just renting the characters :-)

Note: This is my first fanfic EVAR! Any feedback would be greatly appreciated...

* * *

Getting DeSoto into the interrogation room takes far less time than he imagined. Brass has Vartann do the honors while he observes on the other side of the one-way mirror. He watches DeSoto sit calmly in an uncomfortable metal chair, at ease in the environment he knows so well. Based on what they've uncovered so far: the frame job, the explosives, the cover-ups, DeSoto has to be one of the smartest people Brass has ever had to sit across from. It gives him pause. Gil Grissom could go against this guy in the brains department—he'd probably have no trouble outsmarting DeSoto. But Gil isn't here, and Brass feels completely outgunned. 

Brass expertly conceals a nervous swallow as he walks into the room. He takes his time sitting down, arranging his files, sipping his coffee, hoping to put Brad DeSoto more on edge. It always works.

Finally, DeSoto slams his fists on the table and shouts, "What the hell is going on here? I come in to identify my wife's body—my _dead wife's_ body—and you have the nerve to arrest me?"

"When you put it that way," Brass deadpans, "it seems horribly unfair."

"No one's even told me the charges!"

"Murder, for one." DeSoto's almost black eyes widen theatrically. _He's going to play dumb here_, Brass predicts, _but that's only because he doesn't know that we found Wright._

"This has got to be a joke. Who am I supposed to have killed?"

"That would be Mrs. DeSoto."

"Devon Wright kidnapped then killed her after attacking me. I was unconscious on the floor when she was taken. Everyone knows that."

_This is going nowhere, _Brass thinks_. Time to switch gears. _"Tell me about your bank accounts in the Caymans. Seems a bit pretentious to have offshore accounts when you're only pulling in a policeman's salary."

"I use them for sting operations against white collar criminals. Some of those guys are only comfortable wiring money to offshore accounts. Makes me more believable." Brass listens intently to the reply, hearing how rehearsed it sounds. He's astonished by how well DeSoto has covered his tracks and wonders if he's smart enough to uncover them.

"Sure, that makes sense," Brass allows amiably. "What about your wife's life insurance policy. The timing is interesting, you see—you call in the policy, they tell you that they need a death certificate, and somehow Christine's body turns up as though you wished for it."

DeSoto sets his jaw almost imperceptibly. _He had to know this was coming,_ Brass thinks. _It's how we got him in here in the first place_. "I'll admit that's an unfortunate coincidence," DeSoto replies.

"Any idea who made that anonymous call?"

"I would guess it was Mr. Wright. Seems he wasn't done taking his revenge on the police force—he couldn't get to me, so he just struck out randomly."

"Well, that's not what he told us."

DeSoto's face registers his surprise and Brass is gratified to see it. So Devon's arrest wasn't part of DeSoto's plan and it may very well be the only chink in his armor. "You have Mr. Wright in custody?" Brass nods. "May I speak to him?"

Brass shakes his head dolefully. "I don't think he wants to talk to you. Seems he holds a grudge."

"Well, he's a liar and a criminal anyway—he' still up for those fraud charges."

Brass' pulse quickens. He feels that DeSoto is in his grasp, that he can't fail to ensnare him now. He peruses the file for a moment before he finds the documents he wants. "Funny thing about those charges—it appears that all of the evidence against Mr. Wright has vanished into thin air."

DeSoto is unreadable now—if he's angry about that, Brass can't be sure. At the very least, he doesn't seem surprised. Brass continues, "You may not know this, but that particular storage facility was shut down a few weeks ago to be moved to a larger building. Everything was sealed—we just opened it up a few hours ago when we looked for Mr. Wright's files. And, another unfortunate coincidence, you were the last person to look at that evidence."

"So what?" DeSoto says grandly. "Why wouldn't I want to look at the evidence against the man who attacked me and kidnapped my wife?"

"We did find your fingerprints all over the place in there." DeSoto is unimpressed. "We found them on the cabinets, the tables… the _paper shredder…_" The calm resolve drains from DeSoto's face and Brass smiles genuinely. He waits for DeSoto to spin out another excuse, but the younger man seems to have lost his powers of speech.

"So with the fingerprint evidence and Mr. Wright's statements, we feel we have a pretty good case."

And with that, the game is up. DeSoto's patina of an innocent man fades completely. His already deep-set ebony eyes seem to recede further into his face. His thin lips twist into a smirk and his shoulders hunch forward. He looks suddenly like a _killer_. When he finally speaks, contempt drips from every word, "You think a jury will convict me with that paltry evidence? I'm a decorated police officer whose wife was tragically murdered. No one will want to convict me. You've got my word against that of a convicted felon!"

"You forget, we haven't convicted him yet. And, thanks to you, we never will…" He lets the blade fall, "…Edina."

DeSoto chuckles—it's a low, menacing sound that resembles a growl. "And I thought only my wife watched that stupid show."

All the cards are on the table now. They've got him and he knows it. Brass has to use this only chance to get what he really wants. "You can make all this go easier on yourself, you know." DeSoto gives him an amused smile. "You set those bombs. Two of my people are in serious trouble. Tell us how to disarm them and maybe the DA will drop some of these charges."

DeSoto leans back in his chair, folds his arms, and says nothing.

_Shit,_ Brass thinks.

Vartann, Greg and Warrick say virtually nothing in the car on the way to the crime scene. Even the loquacious Devon respects the gravitas and keeps his mouth shut. Warrick drives fast, well, fast for him. Greg sits in the passenger seat, his face turned toward the window.

Catherine is waiting for them when they pull up. She looks tired and genuinely stricken. Greg gets out first and Catherine leads him over to the site. Vartann follows right behind them, soaking up all the information he can.

Warrick helps Devon out of the backseat, then unlocks his handcuffs. As the hacker starts to walk away, Warrick grabs him by the shoulder and rams him against the side of the car. He levels his hazel eyes with Devon's and glares at him for a moment before saying, "I don't know what your stake is in all this, but let me make one thing very clear." Devon is all ears. "Two of my friends could be dead or dying because of some gadgets _you _made." He prods Devon's chest with his index finger for emphasis. Using his height to full advantage, Warrick leans down into Devon's face and says with dangerous softness, "Unless you are going to be completely, and I mean _completely_, helpful in this situation, I will personally cart your bottom-feeding ass back to hold up and lock you up just to protect you from _me_."

Devon gulps audibly, but manages a nod. "So what's it going to be?" Warrick asks, still maintaining aggressive eye contact.

"You got me right, CSI," he says, somehow finding his bravura again. "I've never been one to do the right thing—I always thought it wasn't in my nature. I always thought if I looked out for numero uno, I'd stay out of the path of the big dogs. But I seem to have found myself knee-deep in someone else's shitstorm."

Warrick steps back. The kid's got some spark in him—he might just prove useful after all. "What are you going to do about it?"

Devon walks past him toward Archie, the bombs, the unknown future. He pauses for a moment and says over his shoulder, "I'm gonna grab a shovel."

* * *

**Two more chapters to go, I think! Thanks for all your comments... they really keep me motivated!  
**


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